Dreamer
by xxurielxx
Summary: Eren has been suffering nightmares filled with demons that eat his loved ones before his eyes, but now, they're beginning to invade his mind even as he goes about his normal life. Through the horrors, one man shines above the rest, attracting Eren's eye, but who is he? Why does his memory haunt Eren?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Own Attack On Titan, do not** I.

_It is everywhere. Syrupy. Warm. Wet. _

_ The grass is covered it. No blade is spared from the onslaught. Green dyes red. _

_ It splays along the buildings. Crimson against wood and stone. High impact splatter._

_ We never had a chance. _

_ He stands above. One leg is nearly limp, but his condition is unknown to him. His mouth rushes. Spits. Urges. Begs. No sounds tumble or rip from his throat. The world buzzes with silent. Crickets hum their tune in memory. The song of summer plays in the deafness. Usually so cool and calm, panic commands his eyes. Wide with fear. Glistening with loss. He lunges forward. Arm out. Hand extended. _

_ The scene is from the past; only before I was in the man's stead, reaching for another. Yes, the situation was quite similar. I saved one precious to me. Now, I would be rescued by a man who holds me dear. And just like the past, we would live to fight another day. We could be together for yet another moment longer._

_ Skin touches skin. Calloused palm against calloused palm. Fingers interlocking. Hand in hand. A death grip. Just as they should be. _

_ Movement comes from the corner of my eye. A muscled being moves quick when tempted by rage and loss. The tan and pink blur rushes past. She should have been dead. A name dances on the tip of my tongue but is swallowed- lost to the horror before me. _

_ He's gone; his hand is still in mine. It is warm. It is wet and sticky. There's blood everywhere._

_ And he's gone._

_ Dead._

_ Just like that._

Eren flung forward. Eyes encrusted and burning with with salty tears and discharge, he gasped. Air refused to remain in his lungs; the tissue sacks inflated and deflated without consistent intervals or a care. In response, oxygen was the lone thing he craved. "Oh God," he heaved. Clear snot dripped from a nostril, spit and drool dribbled down his chin and onto his t-shirt, and a thick layer of sweat covered his face with a greasy residue. Worst of all, the tears wouldn't stop coming. The betrayal of bodily function continued with a trembling sob.

A knock rang from the door. The sound was light, hesitant. "Eren, Sweetie, are you alright? I thought I heard a shout," his mother called from outside the room. Her voice was ethereal and sweet like maple syrup and candied apples crafted by an angle's loving touch.

A sideways glance at his alarm clock told his the whole story. Six-thirty had just passed. He should have been up at least fifteen minutes ago. "Damn it." A large gulp of air was inhaled. With his lungs extended as far as they would allow, he held the breath for twenty seconds before hissing it out between clenched teeth. The technique (normally used to slay hiccups) worked well enough to steady his breathing. When he said, "I'm fine, Mom," his voice only came out a tad strained. As he continued with, "just slept in a bit; I'll be down in a minute," there was no variation from how he normally sounded. What a surprise.

When he heard her footsteps retreating, his wiped his face with his t-shirt. Almost automatically, regret sunk to the bottom of his stomach. "I'm going to be scolded," he sighed, staring at the stained cloth. Wait, what? Scolded? By who? Eren did his own laundry; he had been since he entered middle school. No one would know about the snot infested clothing but himself. Again, a sigh came from him. "It's going to be one of those days."

Kicking the blankets off his legs, he stumbled out of bed.

The bedroom wasn't too large, but from the carpet to the ceiling, the room said "Eren." No part of the walls were visible. Each and every inch was covered in some sort of poster: images of the constellations, star maps, Gundam posters, images of the aurora borealis as viewed parallel with earth, images of the aurora borealis as viewed from earth, the planets, the different types of galaxies, photos Eren had deemed bad ass enough to post, and more. Not even his ceiling had been spared from his nerdy wrath. Gundam model kits and planet models made of Styrofoam and spray paint hung suspended in midair from floss-like string, and a poster of Saturn with its moon Titan was stuck right over his bed.

Shoved into a corner of the room, between his dresser and the wall, laid a telescope from his childhood. The device hadn't been used in years now (not since Eren learned that E University allowed the public to use their observatory every clear Thursday night), but the plastic still shined with polish and care nonetheless. Next to the telescope, a camera snuggled into its case, equally as cherished as the device it neighbored. The only difference between the two was the digital camera was still used more often than not.

Little tubes of paint littered the carpet like ticking landmines. At least once a week, one of the tubes was crushed beneath a misplaced step, and colorful blood squirted out in every which way. Despite steam cleaning the carpets twice a month, the once white flooring looked more like a Jackson Pollock painting than anything else.

Yup, his room most definitely screamed, "Eren."

Eren changed into a thin hunter green v-neck sweater, white skinny jeans, and brown combat boots. He had a slight debate over pulling on his army styled jacket, but it wasn't that cold. Yet. His interesting fashion choice would certainly earn him a few extra long stares. The insult "military hipster" had been shot at him more than once. However, after seventeen years of gawking and confused smiles, he'd gotten mostly use to it.

By the time he was finished getting ready, the remainders of his dream had all but vanished, lost to a sea of consciousness. But something, some lingering feeling, forced him to focus on his hand. The lightly tanned skin was stained by paint specks of blue, white, and grey. Ink wormed its way under his nails. But, the flesh itself was soft, feathery to the touch as though he hadn't worked a hard day in his life. The sensation of labored hands engulfing his own waved over him. His stomach rolled.

"Eren, breakfast's ready," his mother called from downstairs. With that, the unnatural feeling was gone. Hunger grew in its stead with a whiny moan.

He snatched his camera and rushed down without a second thought. He saw the look his mother gave him and grinned. "It feels like a good day to take it with me," he said, lifting the camera as some sort of explanation. He snapped a hasty picture of her; the flash filled the kitchen with blinding light.

"Knock it off," she admonished with a gentle laugh. "Hurry and eat. Armin's waiting for you."

At her urging, a pile of scrambled eggs were wolfed down without being tasted, and icy cold orange juice followed soon after. Stomach ache be damned, he had to move quick. Eren shoved his dishes into the waiting sink. Soapy water sloshed out in protest without him noticing. Locating his backpack took a moment (somehow it managed to hide behind the couch), but once the bag was in place, he ran out of the house, yelling his goodbyes behind him.

Outside on the sidewalk stood Armin. The teen was a year older than Eren, making him a high school senior. Despite this, it was difficult to tell that he was the elder. Armin was shorter than Eren by three inches with a slight built. This didn't stop him from having a round face with a pudgy nose and wide, innocent eyes. Normally, blond hair framed the teen's face, but after being called He-Man and Coconut Head one too many times, his sunny locks were captured into a loose pony tail. Somehow, the feminine style came out with less insults.

"Morning, Eren." Armin's greetings were always delivered with a shy half-smile.

"'Sup," he responded, popping the 'p' like bubble gum. Eren's greetings were delivered half-assed. Always.

Armin rolled his eyes and gave Eren a one over. "What," he sighed, shaking his head with mock shame, "are you wearing?"

"Hush up. You know I rock white better than anyone else."

"Sure you do," Armin chuckled. Thus their morning routine began and ended: they greeted each other, Armin gave Eren crap for his outfit, and they both got a little laugh out of it. After twelve years of friendship, it was a miracle they still manage to find the exchange amusing. He clicked his tongue. "So, I'm guessing there's photography club today?"

Photography club was one of the two clubs they belonged to, the other being astronomy club. Eren was the proud president of both clubs, and why shouldn't he be? They were his babies, his creations! In eighth grade, he had come to the decision that high school severely lacked any strong clubs that nourished artistic and scientific curiosity. When he went about trying to make the clubs reality, he soon discovered that one actually had to be a high school student to be a member of any clubs.

So, he waited a year. Then operation "Make School Awesome" was in full steam. Eren worked his ass off going from teacher to teacher, searching high and low for someone to be the clubs' advisers. He created countless of fliers with intricate and beautiful designs, encouraging others to join his merry clubs' activities. After months of struggle and dedication he finally had the end result: Armin and him would be the only two members of the school's best and most secretive of clubs. Sure, they didn't get their pictures in the yearbook or whatever, but somehow, it made going to the observatory every week a little more exciting.

Eren grinned. "Come on. Look around, Armin. Look at all these gorgeous trees..." Eren trailed off for a moment. Somehow the words felt strange in his mouth, like they didn't belong to him. Had he heard them before? Or something similar? He shook his head and got back on track. "It would be a waste of autumn not to capture their likeliness. In fact, it would be denying the artist within me-"

_After the fall of Maria, we came to know hunger. _

_ A skeletal frame rests against a tree. Motionless remains his body. Clouds hover over his eyes, turning sky blue irises milky. Lips are parted, split and chapped. A single ruby runs down his chin. The drop cascades down, tainting the snow below. The fire's warmth can't reach him. He's too far away. He must be cold, frozen to the bone. Hunger must gnaw at his gut._

_ Little remains, but I gather what I can. Sasha doesn't peep as I take the scraps of her bread. How unusual. For her at least. The bread is stale. Stones in my hands. I go to him and say his name. I try to hand him the morsels. I try to force them down his throat._

_ He doesn't move. He stopped moving long ago._

_ After the fall of Maria, we came to know hunger._

_ After the fall of humanity, we came to know starvation. _

"Eren!" Armin gasped.

The sidewalk stared him down from eye level. Why was he on the ground? Oh, that's right. He fell. Simple as that. Pressure met his shoulders; Armin's grip was stronger than expected. His chin was raised, so he didn't have to look at the nasty ground. Instead, he gawked at Armin's eyes, his bright and beautiful and living eyes. When was the last time he'd seen them gleam so vividly? It had to have been before the fall of...of what? He saw Armin everyday. And the teen looked the same everyday.

"Eren, look at me. Can you hear my voice? Speak to me. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Weight shifted, pulling him to his knees. A steady hand kept him from falling forward once more. Three stubby fingers hovered inches from his nose, wiggling like flags in a breeze. He wanted to wave the hand away, snap at Armin, tell him he was fine. However, his body was tense, muscles on edge and clenched. He couldn't move no matter how hard he willed himself. His stomach trembled and quaked; if he opened his mouth, the contents would gush up and out, tainting the sidewalk with yellow, semi-digested eggs and gastric juices.

Armin unearthed his cell phone and dialed Eren's mother. He gave her all the details he could gather (which were mostly "he passed out" and "I have no idea what's happening"). Instructions were given and received eagerly. With the situation fleshed out and explained, the shorter teen worked at getting Eren to his feet. Stepping back, he quickly realized he had to keep Eren from going into shock. If he shut down, there was no way Armin could drag his limp body back. He lacked the muscle structure needed for such a predicament. A stream of cooing and encouragement bubbled out of Armin's mouth. "It'll be alright, Eren. We'll be home soon. Your mom will know what to do. You'll be alright. You will be alright. Alright?"

Eren's lips fluttered. "I'm fi-" Vomit spewed down his chin, plopping onto his shirt and jeans in thick, frothy chunks. Automatically the acidic scent of bile rose up, instigating another round of abdominal eruption.

Had Armin a sympathetic gut, they would have never made it back to the haven of Eren's house. When they finally returned, Eren's mother jumped to action. Medical training and a nursing degree led her to go through the most basic of tests. She ran through lists of multiple symptoms for multiple issues ranging from the common cold to deadly viruses. Eren's temperature and heart rate were monitored. Water was pumped down his throat to keep him hydrated. An hour later, Eren was back to normal, and she deemed her son simply needed more rest. "Something must have triggered a traumatic memory," was her attempt at an explanation.

Thus, the bed became his captor and Armin his guard. Armin was propped up at the end of the bed, looking back at Eren. "Eren, what happen?" With the previous flames of panic smothered, the question was safe enough to ask. This didn't save Armin's voice from wavering.

Pride held his tongue for but a moment before surrendering. There was no way to hide it anymore. Eren's shoulders slumped. "I've been having nightmares for awhile now. Before, I'd have one once every four or five months, but steadily they've been increasing. Once a month. Once every two weeks. Once a week..." He trailed off and shook his head. His hair flew about him in a brown halo only to fall back into place. "This was the first time one's happened while I was awake. I didn't think it was possible."

Armin's mouth pressed into a hard line. "Perhaps, you're having flashbacks?"

"Flashbacks?" Eren's head shook violently. "Not possible."

"Why not? If these terrors have been going on for a long period of time, they may be a symptom of Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. There have been cases where childhood injuries resulted in intrusive memories later on in life. I just read a case study on children who were secluded from any form of love through the first years of life. They're tragic but fascinating." If not stopped, Armin would have continued on his nerd-rant for hours, indulging in his odd obsession with the cause and effect of damage to the human psyche.

"Armin, the things I see aren't real. They can't be," Eren spat, shutting the other up. Brilliant teal eyes widened; tears prickled at corners, growing into reflective crystals.

A moment passed before droplets evaporated. Armin asked, "what do you see?"

A manged laugh jumped from Eren's throat. The chortle rang through the air with a dull clang. Funeral bells. "What don't I see?" he questioned, grinning like mad. "I witness the death and carnage of my loved ones. I suffer through their hardships. I taste their blood and hold their lives in the palm of my hand." His plump hand wasn't worthy to hold something so valuable. He wasn't strong enough to be humanity's hero; everyone knew it, yet no one stopped him. Why didn't they stop him? His twisted smirk faltered into a grimace. "At least, I think they're my loved ones.

"They come in flashes. Names. Faces. They're hard to remember, but if I focus hard and long enough, I can almost spit them out. Mikasa. Jean. Marco. Whatever. I almost wish I could forget them. Forget how my chest aches each time I see them. Forget how I fear they'll be eaten alive right in front of me." A shudder ran through his body, starting at the feet and racing up to the spine and ramming into his head.

Horror showed on Armin's face. "Eaten alive?" he asked. "By what?"

"Titans."

The word hovered in the air and crashed down like a rain of bullets. An uncomfortable warmth settled in the pit of Armin's stomach. The image of Saturn's moon crawled into his mind, but the liquid methane rich body didn't hold enough weight to satisfy a reason behind the lingering dread.

Eren met Armin's eyes and held contact. "I see you in that world. You're the only one who I know for certain; you're almost exactly the same there as you are here. It's sort of amazing, actually." He turned and leaned back into his pillows. Eyes fluttered shut. A sigh hissed through gritted teeth. "In one scene, I try to go to you. You're dead, though. You starve to death, and I can't do a single damn thing to stop it from happening. Every time I see it, I just have to sit back a watch like some bad movie."

Somehow, Armin kept a straight face. Any panic he may have felt from the ominous statements was hidden by eyes drowning in concern and lips offering comfort words. There was no way he was the cause of Eren's disturbances. Sure the two might have to occasional tiff, but none of their arguments burnt deep enough to leave lasting scars. "Is there anyone else you see? I mean, someone you see more often than me?" Fear oozed out of his voice, yellow pus infecting light discussion.

The movement was slight, but Eren's head bobbed. An affirmation. "There's one man." His speech came out with a gossamer touch, whispers to be lost among empty air. As he continued, the pronunciation strengthened and grew more certain. "He's different from the others. Short. Quick-tempered. Unapproachable. Rude. Vulgar. Loyal. Warm. I see him over and over again in countless situations and scenes. The one that occurs the most is how he dies."

Eren's description flew over Armin's head. He knew everyone Eren knew, and Eren hadn't lost anyone—friend or family or acquaintance—who matched the image painted. "How did it happen?" he asked, feeling more confused than before.

"Not sure." Eren shrugged. "I can't quite remember much about him. Not even his name. The knowledge is right there: inescapable but impossible to reach. No matter how hard or fast I chase, I can't grasp it. When I wake up, I forget almost everything but the feelings he left me with. The feelings and the grief. They always stay."

Armin moved closer. Arms encased Eren in a tight embrace. The attempt was all Armin could to do ease his friend's troubles, and it didn't do a thing.

**A/N: **Chapter One has been re-written. Honestly, I enjoy re-writing stories more than I do the original. This version added a little over 1,400 words, more character dept (I hope), and an overall attempt to explain Eren's flashbacks. I hope you enjoyed it, and if not, please inform me on how to make it better. I know the idea of reincarnation has been beaten to death and there are better stories on the topic, but I'd like to make this the best it can be. Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

_Wall Maria is on fire. Flames lick the sky. Taste the sun. Regurgitate smoke. Darkness engulfs at noon. The world is tainted black and red._

_ I have to go back. Delve into the heat. Smoother. Kill anything that crosses my path. Titan or soldier. They are filth. They will all fall before me. I will crush them. Tear limb from body. Bone from flesh. They deserved the worst. Everything is their faults. Everything._

_ He's waiting for me. He has to be._

_ I'll run through the fire. He'll still be near what use to be my house. He'll be mulling over our discovery, trying to determine our next step. He'll see me. Call to me. I'll approach him. He'll meet me half way. He always does. _

_ I feel hands on me. They dig into my chest. They are holding me back. My throat is torn on the inside. Blood dribbles down my chin. Fluid fills my lungs. I choke. I still scream. I hear nothing but the buzzing. The sound echoes. It is hollow. Death. I scream harder. My lungs give out. _

_ Wall Maria is on fire, and he's burning with her._

* * *

><p>Therapy was supposed to help.<p>

The first week had been nothing but blood tests and pointless questions: Do you consume alcohol? Shoot tranquilizers? Take blood pressure medications? Any antidepressants? Street drugs? Smoke? Do you eat right before you fall asleep? What about sleep apnea? Do you have issues falling asleep? Have you been bullied recently? Do you worry about school? Has anything specifically traumatic happened lately? Are you in a gang?

The second week was filled with him trying to remember the dreams and failing.

By the third week, the blood tests were back; Eren hadn't lied. Except for the strain induced by the nightmares, his body was a fit as a fiddle.

Finally, after a month of no success or relief, his therapist assigned him to keep a dream journal. The first few nights left him with vast white papers, untouched by ink or lead. Armin was the one to suggest he focused on characters as opposed to the scenes as a whole. With the new plan set in motion, background characters, faces he only saw flashes of, and names became increasingly familiar.

"Since they don't appear in chronological order, I always thought my nightmares could just stand alone, but I was wrong. Each nightmare is like a puzzle piece. They all fit together somehow, but I can't figure it out. If I had all the pieces... I don't though. So I have to try to put them in an order. The only way to do that is to follow who's there. If I don't see them one time, it mean's they're already dead, so if they show up in the next one, I know that part happened before the other. You get what I'm saying?" Eren was writing like a madman, grinning as he did so.

Armin sat at the edge of Eren's bed. His eyes were half hung over with sleep, but he couldn't miss the joy bursting through Eren's face. Armin wrapped his arms around his chest, struggling to keep warmth in his body. For the past week, he had been staying the night, trying to help however he could. The night was colder than normal; coldest night of fall, if he had to place a guess. Or perhaps not. It wasn't every morning he was woken up at four, so there was no way of knowing if it wasn't always so chilly. No, he should have been asleep, curled up on the air mattress next to the bed and buried under an army of blankets.

A loud scream had woken Armin though. A loud, ear piercing scream followed by hysteria and rambling. Eren turned his nightstand lamp on. Despite damp eyes, shaking body, and hyperventilating, Eren pulled out the notebook from under his pillow and wrote. And wrote. And wrote. All the while, little whispers slipped from his mouth, but they weren't intelligent. Little grumbles and grunts. The occasion word or half of one.

Eren froze and glanced up at his friend. "Cold?" he questioned, smirking. He shuffled over and lifted his blanket. "Com'ere, I have to show you something."

Armin obeyed. He slipped under the blanket next to Eren. Any sense of coldness fled him; the blankets were nice and toasty. More so than they should have been. The other boy's body was running like an oven. "Eren, do you have a fever?" he asked, but Eren dodged his inquiring hand.

"I'm fine. Look at this."

Scribbles and chaos covered the notebook. The handwriting started as neat little words, two whole sentence jammed onto one line. It grew slowly until the letters lost form all together. Thoughts were dropped mid-sentence or mid-word. Doodles of long blades and deform humans interrupted, ripping apart whatever sanity may have remained. Drawn with heavy black lines and grotesque proportions, they were hideous. But Eren looked as pleased as punch staring at the paper, as though he could see something more in the images and gibberish.

"Eren, you need to get some sleep."

"Quiet. You don't know what you're talking about," Eren snapped. "I'm fine."

Eren was not fine; anyone could see the fact. His face was gaunt with paled skin. Heavy purple bags became a common fixture under his eyes in the last few weeks. It was rare if the whites his eyes weren't a rich red. Even his lush green irises fogged, having lost their burning spark. Hair stuck to his forehead, glued in place by the constant sweat in which he seemed to be covered. He was slipping farther each day.

How much more torment could he handle? The mind was a powerful being with the capability to build and destroy worlds, but it was not immortal. There was a certain level that could snap his mind, twist it to the brink, and cause him to fizzle into nothingness. If that point were to be reached, what would happen to him?

Pain struck Armin's chest like a hammer. Twelve years. He had been with Eren for twelve years. Their friendship had survived over a decade of fights and temper tantrums, ups and downs, both hard times and good times. In fact, the good times were vast enough in numbers to overshadow any of their past pettiness. Those precious memories inspired future hopes, and he couldn't imagine a life without Eren next to him. Eren was going to be there for his wedding; he'd be an uncle to his children. In turn, Armin would stand by any decisions Eren made, even if he didn't particularly agree with them. They'd have odd "guy's night out" adventures, just like a bad movie. They may not remain neighbors forever, but all the distance in the world could demolish their bond.

Seeing Eren slip so low stirred his worst thoughts. It took all the optimism he could muster to keep a tiny seed of hope from being crushed. They would make it through this. They had to. "What are you thinking?" he asked, softly. He placed his hand on top of Eren's and gave a light squeeze.

The contact pulled Eren out of his hectic mood. His smile slipped from his face, replaced by an exhausted frown. "I've only seen one image that goes past your death," he admitted. "Some time has passed since you left, and I'm traveling alone with a woman named Mikasa. I'm not sure why, but we separated from the rest of the group. She may have needed to talk to me. Her face looks like she has something to say, but we are attacked before she has a chance to do anything. I battle with a man; he is large and built like a grass-fed ox. His eyes are sharp. I lose. Or, I think I do, because everything becomes washed in darkness. I'm pretty sure that's how I die."

His head rolled back. He stared without blinking at the ceiling. "The earliest memory I do remember is pulling you out of the mouth of a titan." The word "memory" echoed in the small room, but Eren didn't seem to notice the odd choice of words. "You are crying, but through your fear, you still reach for me. You want to get me out. I can hear your screaming even as the titan swallows me." His lip trembled.

"I sound pathetic," Armin said, trying desperately to light the mood. The idea of being eaten alive made him want to vomit, so he steered clear of thinking about it. If only Eren could do the same.

Eren's eyes hardened. "You weren't. Sure, fighting wasn't your forte, but you could out plan anyone. You saved our asses more than once with that noggin of yours. Hell, you were able to determine those damn traitors among our ranks. You did everything you could to rescue me each time I was kidnapped by our enemies. You and everyone else."

"Each time?"

A tinge of pink overtook Eren's cheeks. "Uh, yeah. I was kidnapped three or four times. But that's not important. I don't think I got to properly thank you for all you did for me back there. I guess a part of me thought there would be plenty of time once we won the war; however, that never happened. We died before it could." He shook his head, chasing away the thoughts for a moment. He offered a weak smile. "It's a little late, but here you are: Thank you for everything you've done Armin." For a moment, the old Eren was back. His eyes burned with life. His shoulders were squared with strength. In a flash he was gone.

Armin wasn't sure how to respond. Tears began to hinder his vision. He wiped them away with the back of his wrist. "Sorry. I'm not sure why I'm so emotional," he said, laughing a bit.

Eren returned the laugh with one of his own. "Must have touched a cord, or something."

They fell into a silence that bordered peaceful, but Armin had to break it. "Eren, are your dreams ever peaceful?" He had been wanting to know since the first incident, but some sense of foreboding dread had stopped him. He didn't want to think of the terror as constant. He wanted to believe that Eren was given breaks from the visions and blood shed. He wanted to know that something positive could rise from the ashes of Eren's despair. He had tried to deny the facts that presented themselves, but he couldn't anymore. Not after the heartfelt gratitude Eren had showered down on him.

Now, he was ready to accept the truth.

Eren's eyes fluttered shut. "Yes."

The answer knocked the wind out of Armin's lungs. An uncanny sense of joy rose from his stomach, but Eren continued before he could express his relief.

"They're the worst of all."

* * *

><p><em> Morning light invades. Streams through the window perched above the bed. Soon, it will fall upon us, stirring us from our slumber. A natural alarm. However, I am already awake. I must wake up before him. Otherwise, my opportunity is lost. I drink in his presence.<em>

_ His head is tucked into the crook of my neck. His breath brushes against my collar bone. It is warm. Soft. His arm is draped over my chest. His hand clutches the sheets. Our legs are intertwined. If we were any closer, we would become one person. The idea doesn't disturb me. We would never be apart. _

_ I curl a piece of his hair between my fingers. I listen to his breathing. I feel his bare being against mine. He smells clean. Like soap. My senses are overwhelmed. Warmth floods my chest. I am at peace._

_ The sun is about to touch him. When it does, his steel eyes will open. He will leave me. My tranquility with be slain. _

_ He needs to rise. The others require his guidance. Without him, we can't last._

_ I am a selfish creature. I sit up. He slides down my torso. He doesn't wake. His arms snake around my waist. My body blocks the rays from his face. A shield. He can sleep for a bit longer._

**A/N:** If I knew I would be updating this the very next day, I probably would have just waited to make this a one-shot...


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